When Vernan Keegan designed Coney Island’s Cyclone roller coaster, he gave Roaring 20s New Yorkers just what they wanted: danger.

Or the illusion of it, at least.

“People nowadays like to wave to their friends and show off,” he told Popular Science in 1927, the year the coaster opened, “They want to believe the rides are dangerous. If they think they’re in peril every moment,  they come back for more.”

The ride’s seat belts and guard rails heightened the effect, serving no purpose but to scare passengers.

Keegan’s insight paid off: the Cyclone was an instant hit, garnering national attention and attracting visitors for decades.

The ride’s 60 mile-per-hour top speed made it the world’s fastest coaster when it opened, and at 86 feet high, it was also the tallest. Its high peaks and deep drops were due in part to the fact that builders had a relatively small parcel of land to work with.

Even so, some urged them to squeeze the ride into a tighter spot: “The Cyclone ought to be packed up and moved into the middle of Times Square,”  a 1929 Life essay insisted:

“Just imagine the Cyclone there! And the Saving! Why, one drink in your favorite speakeasy and a ride on the Cyclone would save you the cost of four extra cocktails!”

Though proffered in jest, relocation may have saved the coaster’s fans lot of grief. By the late 1960s, the Coney Island’s popularity faded and its flagship ride lay rusting and abandoned.

Fearing its impending dilapidation, the City of New York purchased the Cyclone in 1969 for $1 million but left it shuttered for six years.

Then Dewey Albert, owner of Coney Island’s Astroland amusement park, resuscitated the historic ride. He struck a deal to lease the Cyclone from the City for $57,000 per year and gave the coaster a much-needed facelift.

On the weekend the coaster re-opened in 1975, thousands waited in three-hour-long lines to ride it, buying a total of $125,000 in tickets for the privilege.

Today, the ride remains popular despite offering a tamer experience than newer, more extreme coasters.

The Cyclone, after all, is a “gravity coaster,” meaning it never turns its passengers upside-down. Its track climbs, banks and dips, but never loops or twists.

By the time the Cyclone opened, Keegan — its designer — knew the ride would soon lose its cutting edge. He told Popular Science, “We’ve gone about as far as we can in getting thrills out of gravity coasters. To hold our patrons, we’ll have to do the impossible.”

Today’s towering, steel super-coasters seem to fit the bill.

In 2005, New Jersey’s Six Flags theme park unveiled Kingda Ka, the world’s tallest and fastest coaster. Topping out at 456 feet, it leads riders down a 128 mile-per-hour drop.

But the coaster’s height has its drawbacks: for instance, a May 2009 lightening strike knocked the new ride out of commission for three months.

Meanwhile, the Cyclone has proved resilient. Still running after more than 80 years, the ride has recovered from disrepair and resisted several efforts by would-be developers to zone it out of existence.

Even if it does give way to high-end condos in the future, it has secured its legacy by inspiring seven working replicas in theme parks throughout the world.